


Imago

by Demedicis



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Sexual Content, fem!jongdae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demedicis/pseuds/Demedicis
Summary: Joonmyun looks to the sky, but can't quite figure out how to reach it. He might be afraid, but someone has to teach him how to transform.





	Imago

**Author's Note:**

> ! this isn't based on any historical time period or universe ! the setting is vague, and is mixture of east and west traditions  & my own inventions.  
> note: suho is the main character (jongin's there dw)
> 
> written for prompt #4003, thank you to the op & mods! happy reading!

Joonmyun holds the perfectly cut slip of paper in his hands. It is opulently decorated, with gold leaf adorning the rectangular border. The words written in the center—elegant, but letters of character—are the evident work of the palace’s most skilled calligrapher. Painted onto the corner are lilies, of various colours, and Joonmyun runs his thumb over a white one just to see whether the colours will smudge. They don’t. 

The invitation is beautiful, and in most contexts, a cause for excitement. Although Joonmyun has attended more weddings than he can easily count, the many celebrations always featured such remarkable splendor that his sense of wonder had never been dampened. This previous sentiment becomes irrelevant, however, the moment he reads the two names, carefully marked in the centre of the card.

In the back of his mind, Joonmyun hears something, or rather feels something, snap. After everything…there is no logical explanation for why he is currently holding a wedding invitation.

With his name on it.

His first instinct is to tear it, to rip it into shreds so its meaning can be destroyed. He refrains from doing so, because he has to keep his temper in check—even when absolutely furious—and because the young prince has many, many questions.

He stands, without looking up from the paper he’s nearly ruining with how forcefully he clutches it, the edges crumpling, and storms out of his bedchamber. 

Five years ago, prince Minseok was given a similar instruction. Minseok, firstborn son and heir to the kingdom, had fought against the schemes of his parents to marry a wealthy, noble girl from the west, so that the kingdom’s treasury cold be replenished and the subjects saved from the effects of a poor harvest. 

Five years ago, prince Minseok fled. He took with him nothing but a few possessions, and a boy. That boy, Luhan, had been the crown prince’s true love, in fact, he was from the same kingdom as the very girl he was meant to marry. However, his status was too low, and no marriage between the two—the heir to the Eastern Kingdom and an insignificant commoner from the west—would never be allowed. 

Similarly, that night prince Minseok left behind two things. One was a letter, explaining the reasons for his disappearance, which Joonmyun still kept in a drawer underneath his bed, and the other was his claim to the throne. 

Joonmyun can still remember waking up the next morning to the chaos, back when he'd been lingering in teenagehood and worrying himself with his studies. Of course, being a second son implied that the throne was never entirely out of reach, but no one expected his brother to give it up.

Even now, Joonmyun finds it hard to wrap his head around that fact. Minseok might not have been a warrior prince, nor the most dedicated to the learned arts, but he'd possessed a great deal of reason. Joonmyun had never imagined that he would have to replace his older brother, but there was nothing to be done. On that night, five years ago, the kingdom’s fate was altered as the crown prince was replaced. 

His brother had never really seemed much for romance; Minseok hadn't cared about love poems or fairy tales the way their younger sister Jongdae had—or Joonmyun in secret—but it seemed his brother was willing to do most anything for love, even give up his kingdom. Hence, Joonmyun expected that his parents would have gotten the message, that rulers still needed personal freedom. When Minseok left, Joonmyun’s freedoms diminished greatly, but he took it all in stride, dedicating himself to filling the gaping hole of a capable, clever, and sensible prince that his brother had left behind. He thought his parents understood. He thought they were aware that what they had tried to force Minseok into had been a mistake. He thought—hoped—that his own fate would be different.

That is why the wedding invitation makes his blood run hot with rage, then cold with fear. 

He charges into his mother’s bedchamber, paying no mind to her servants as they try to hold him back. Joonmyun’s been lectured a thousand times about why a good ruler always remains calm in the face of troubles, but Joonmyun isn’t king yet. 

"What is the meaning of this?" He hisses, holding the invitation up for his mother to see. She’s seated by the window, wearing her favourite pale red robes, cradling a cup of hot tea. The image is one of serenity, but Joonmyun is not sorry for having interrupted her. 

"Are you not a fan of the colourings? I'd have thought you'd love the contrast of the gold with the lilies, but I supposed I should have guessed you'd want it to be plain, maybe a simple cream?" is her reply. She does not even spare her son a glance as she gazes outside, as if whatever mundane courtyard scene down below is more important than Joonmyun’s distress.

"Mother," Joonmyun growls, voice low, "I don't care about the colour of the card. I want to know why there's a wedding invitation with my name on it that I did not approve of!"

His mother rolls her eyes, and takes a sip of her drink before finally shifting to face her son. The Queen of the Eastern Kingdom has never needed height to stand tall, or typical female docility in youth to win herself suitors. Joonmyun was normally overpowered by her will, but he’d long been too flexible, too weak, and it’s the time to let his mother know that he will not be toyed with any longer. 

Joonmyun often wonders if Minseok had faced the same challenges, even before their father became ill and their mother usurped his duties. His father hasn’t been an active participate in the court for ten years, since before Joonmyun became his heir, so he has never known how the king commanded his subjects. He’s only known his mother, whose will is firmer than iron. He loves the woman, but she’s the primary reason adjusting to his new responsibilities has been so difficult.

“My son, this spring makes you twenty-three. I think it’s about time you marry. My physician often tells me the wonders of having a spouse while still young. You must take care of your health, Joonmyun, it would be so good for you,” she states simply.

He doesn’t believe her for a single second. “Good for me? Or good for you, and the kingdom?”

The Queen seems unperturbed that her son has seen through her, as he knows he has, “the other name on that invitation, do you know who it is?”

Joonmyun glances back down as the paper in his hand. He’d been too transfixed on his own name, that he’d forgotten a marriage involved two parties.

“…Kim Jongin?”

His mother nods, pleased. “That’s the third eldest child of the Southern Kingdom’s king and queen. Their customs allow his elder sisters to inherit the throne, but there is much prestige in a firstborn prince, much influence, wealth, and protection. You are so dearly lucky, my boy, that the king is willing to give his son to you; not many would ever dare do so. He cannot give you heirs, but he can give you so much more.”

But can he give me love? Can he give me what you give father, what Luhan gave Minseok?

“Mother, I thought we agreed that I could choose!”

The Queen simply clicks her tongue, “the South is already greatly anticipating the union of our two kingdoms. If I allow you to say no for such selfish reasons, they’d be very insulted. If you backed out, so late after plans have been made, our relation with them will be forever tarnished. Surely, my son, you are not such a selfish ruler?”

She has him, and she knows it. That didn’t mean, though, that he’d go quietly. “And how long has this been going on for, exactly? Were you planning to push me onto the altar without a word?”

“No,” she scoffs, “that’s why I sent you that invitation. It’s a tester, for the real one I’ll be sending out next week. You have some time to prepare yourself.”

“How long?”

When she answers, he feels his body freeze, and tries his best to hide his shock.

“The wedding is in three weeks.”  
***  
That night Joonmyun doesn’t sleep. He tosses and turns, tangled in his silk bedsheets, sweat sticking to him. He has been the royal son, he’s followed the orders of the queen, and bit his tongue whenever he disagreed. Still, after all this, it hasn’t been enough.

Or maybe, the problem is that he’s been _too_ complacent. The prince rolls over and stares at the wall, even if his bedchamber is too dark for his eyes to make out a single shape. It’s quiet, save for his own breathing, and whatever monstrous wailing is coming from within his chest, rattling against his ribs like a prisoner struggling against the iron bars of their cell. Maybe his mother sees him as a weakling, her pushover son who she can command without limits. 

Joonmyun presses a hand over his sweaty chest, hoping to calm it. This isn’t what he wanted. None of this is what he wanted!

He continues to lie restless until dawn arrives at its usual hour. He doesn’t manage to catch a single moment of sleep, and it won’t be long until his presence is requested by somebody in the palace. If he mother calls for him, he’s tempted to refuse her, after she planned behind his back yet again. Joonmyun feels more miserable than mad, but that doesn’t mean that the anger has yet to subside. 

He gives up with trying to sleep and opts for changing into fresh robes instead. He watches through his window, as the sun climbs through the sky, as it does every day without repose, to pass the time. 

Soon, his attendants arrive and they escort him to the bathhouse in the other end of the palace. He bathes in solitude, letting the hot water and sweet smelling oils wash away his sweat and panic. He tries his best to scrub it all away, all his doubts and insecurities, but they linger, even when his skin has turned blotchy and pink from his washcloth, and he has to get out of the hot bath before the steam makes him dizzy. He can at least mask it with lavender, maybe even fool himself. A new day starts for crown prince Joonmyun.

His main attendant informs him that his morning schedule is free, except that his sister has asked him to dine with her at noon. He breathes out a sigh of relief, and knows exactly how to spend him time until then. 

His climbs the spiral staircase, to one of his favourite rooms in the royal palace. The general study is larger than the private one that connects to his bedchamber, and the walls are lined with texts, written on scrolls or sheets of paper bound together. The room always smells of sandalwood, thanks to the head scholar’s never-ending supply of incense.

Joonmyun seats himself at the main table in the center of the room. On top of it, various half-opened scrolls are spread out, most not even in a language the prince understands. He makes sure not to touch anything important, and lays his head against the wood.

It’s so easy for his mind to recall the years he’s spent within this room. Since Joonmyun had been old enough to speak full sentences, his parents instructed that he visit the study regularly. He would sit beside his brother, Minseok, his sister, and older cousins, and listen as the various scholars tried to pass on just a fraction of their vast knowledge down to him. He remembers his assigned tutor, the one who’d hover over him, training his skills in grammar, rhetoric, and prowess with musical instruments. The prince had always preferred most all reading the historical annals, enjoying the tales of war written with more romantic emphasis than truth, instead of the technicalities of battle formations or how to greet a guest to be both polite and intimidating. If Joonmyun were not now tied to the throne, he believes he would have enjoyed becoming a scholar. 

“what brings the ever-busy king-to-be to my humble study?” a voice calls from the doorway, and the prince feels better just from hearing that voice, as he turns his neck to see the head scholar leaning on the doorframe. 

“I can’t drop by to visit old friends? Or can I only leave after I’ve written three pages about proper coronation conduct?” the prince jests, as the scholar closes the sliding door behind him and joins the younger in the study. 

Kyungsoo is the head scholar, even if he’s a decade or two off from the greying, bearded stereotype. He has barely ten years on the prince sitting in front of him. His position is partly a testament to his great expertise, and partly because he’d always been a favourite and friend of the royal children.

“You haven’t been up here for a few weeks, so don’t give me that excuse. What do you need?” Kyungsoo huffs, always one to get straight to the point. The scholar sits himself at the end of the table, so that he can peer down at Joonmyun. Though Kyungsoo is shorter than the prince, he never appears to be, and the way he holds himself reminds others not to underestimate him. In some sense, he reminds the prince of his mother.

“Trust me, Kyungsoo, if I could come here every day, I would. Mother keeps my schedule packed; I have to dine with all our noble families, charm their wives and even the occasional mistress, meanwhile run around showing my face off so our kingdom forgets all about how I’m second best. I would give anything for a week—no, a day—off,” Joonmyun sighs against the table, his breath blowing a couple of pages like leaves in the wind. 

“You’re busy, I’ll give you that,” Kyungsoo remarks. The scholar leans his body closer, his teasing attitude fading, “you look especially beaten up today, my prince, what’s up?”

Joonmyun groans and hides his face in the nook of his elbow. He came here to talk, to get things off his chest so that maybe he’ll be able to sleep somewhat peacefully the following night, but just thinking the words has his stomach unsettling. 

“My mother, she…” the prince starts, “arranged a marriage between me and some prince whom I’ve never met.”

Why couldn’t it at least have been someone he knew, some local aristocrat girl, with picturesque looks? Joonmyun knew plenty of candidates in his own kingdom, in his father’s (mother’s) own court, his own palace! Sure, he wasn’t in love with any of these potential marriage partners, but at least he knew more than a name!

Kyungsoo offers a small noise of understanding and a comforting hand on the prince’s shoulder. The warmth of the touch makes his taut muscles loosen, just a bit, but not enough. He could deny it, play it cool, but the panic within him rages on. 

“I can’t say I didn’t warn you, half a king’s wealth usually derives from his bride…or in this case, his husband.”

“I know that!” Joonmyun groans, burying his face deeper into his arms, as if they offered shelter from reality. There was nowhere to hide, of course, and Joonmyun wasn’t planning to be the second prince to run. 

Kyungsoo takes a moment to answer, and he squeezes Joonmyun’s shoulder once before replying, “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but your mother got you a prince. None of the ladies here that you may fancy compare to that, and this isn’t the kind of match you could prepare yourself, through feeling. It’s a burden to bear, but if your mother chose it, she must think the risk is worthwhile.’”

Distaste burns on Joonmyun’s tongue. Why did the risk have to be his happiness? Why was that never a priority?

“I don’t want a chosen spouse. We lost Minseok because of an arranged marriage, and I can’t believe she’d force me into the same corner. I just feel…I just feel betrayed.” If the prince’s voice broke on the last word, none of them mention it. 

“I get it, Joonmyun. That’s perfectly valid, and if it were any normal maiden I’d tell you to challenge your mother’s decision, but I fear a prince is too rare and too valuable a gift for you to refuse. Let’s not forget, your mother’s marriage was arranged, and she wouldn’t support this one if she believes it isn't the best decision.”

Joonmyun wonders if Minseok received the same counsel. 

The prince sighs, but the feelings that threaten to choke him don’t slip away with the air from his lungs. 

“Of course you’re rational,” the prince finally exclaims, “why couldn’t you just tell me to do something crazy, like burn the palace down in protest?”

Kyungsoo smirks, “because someone has to be your voice of reason, Joonmyun, and we both know it’s not you. I suggest you grab a cup of tea and wait until you meet this alleged betrothed before you do something drastic.”

Joonmyun thinks if he sighs anymore, his lungs will deflate. “I wish I could, but I have to meet my sister for lunch, and after that I have a whole list of tasks my mother drew up to attend to.”

Kyungsoo pats his head like one would a child. 

“My poor, poor prince.”  
***  
“You’re being awfully quiet,” Jongdae remarks as she watches him from across the table.

Joonmyun is currently in his sister’s bedchamber, being served all his sister’s favourite treats, because Jongdae’s never been one to cater to others’ tastes. He’s never been able to handle so many sweets before dinner. 

He wipes his lips with a cloth and lets his eyes drop away from his sister’s face; she’s a thing of beauty, the quintessential princess. She’s the only one left that’s bound to their mother so strictly, the only one left that can truly understand. He has to tell her. 

“Mother, she…she’s made an arrangement,” he starts, but the words die somewhere on his tongue. Jongdae’s a princess, she can’t rule, so there were never any illusions that the king and queen would find her a husband. Joonmyun, at least, believed his fate would be different. Right now, they are more alike than ever. 

“Oh, this wouldn’t have anything to do with the wedding mother’s been pestering me about? ‘What matches with cerulean, Jongdae?’ how should I know? What even is Cerulean? I’m not a wedding planner!”

“Wait, what? You’ve known about this the whole time?”

His sister doesn’t even falter, “I didn’t know whose wedding until a few hours ago. When I asked, mother dearest told me you’d already been informed. You’ll be wearing white, by the way, because her other option was lilac, and I made sure she knew to hold it on the tassels. You can pay your thanks in kind.”

So his mother had been prepared to go through with the wedding before her son was even aware of it. 

“I can’t believe this,” the prince moans, “I can’t believe she’s doing this again.” He holds his head in his hands. Jongdae only means to be lighthearted by bringing the topic up, but hearing about the details of the wedding—as an actual event—just makes it ten times more real, and a thousand times worse. He doesn’t even get consulted about what colour to wear, he doesn’t even get a choice in that. 

“Again? What are you—oh, you’re talking about Minseok…” his sister trails off.

Joonmyun raises his head to look at her.

“Yes, I mean Minseok! How could I ever forget? How can she make this mistake a second time?” he’s yelling too loudly for the time of day, or the occasion, but Joonmyun’s past the point of caring about etiquette or appearance. It’s taking every ounce of his will power not to throw a tantrum in front of his younger sister. 

It takes Jongdae a moment to process his outburst, but when she does her tone is different, “Joonmyun, mother doesn’t see this the way you do. You think her mistake is in forcing our brother into a relationship he disagreed with. Mother sees the fact that he fell in love with a commoner as the only error, and one that Minseok made. In her eyes, he’s the one at fault.”

Falling in love is a mistake? How can it be wrong when it’s the only thing he’s wanted, the thing he’s been waiting for?

“How can mother think that?” he croaks, “She forced him to choose. She _made_ him leave.”

Jongdae speaks to him patiently, and Joonmyun picks up on the contrast between her and him, who feels like a cloth in the process of unravelling, “she thought she was making the decision that was best for him and best for the kingdom. Mother probably her thinks her match would have made Minseok happiest.”

Joonmyun scoffs, “obviously not, it made him miserable. Now I don’t even know if my own brother is even alive!”

The person he’s always relied on, the stronger brother, the better king…all gone, because the queen had been selfish. 

“Joonmyun, please tell mother if this is how you feel. I’m sure if she knew, she’d reconsider,” Jongdae says. She gets up from her seat and envelops her brother into a tight hug. Joonmyun wills himself to relax into it. “Mother isn’t out to get you. She wants you to be happy.”

His sister smells sweet, like her taste in pastries; it’s comforting, like the oils from the bath. He clings to the sound of her voice, “but it’s a stranger.”

“Not _just_ a stranger, a prince! No matter what type of personality he has, Prince Jongin has a reputation, and I’m positive mother knows it well. She wouldn’t choose a partner for her darling boy unless she thought they’d be a good match for you. She might not admit to it, but I’m sure who this Southern prince _is_ is partly why she decided he was good enough for you. I mean, you can’t even produce heirs together, and at the end of the day no amount of gold remedies that!” Jongdae explains. Her sleek, black braid falls over his shoulder and he holds onto her tighter. He’s lucky to have such a beautiful and wise voice of reason. 

“How can I know that for sure?”

“You can’t” Jongdae hums. Her face is pressed to his neck, and although he can’t see, he’s certain her lips are turned upwards like a little kitten, “but even if you can’t trust mother, you can trust in me. What kind of sister would I be if I let you marry an asshole? I’ll beat him all the way to our kingdom’s borders if he isn’t perfect for you.”

Joonmyun actually laughs at that, “careful, that might start a war.”

Jongdae pulls back and merely grins, “and whose problem would that be, Mr. soon-to-be-head-of-this-kingdom? Not mine, I’m just a modest maiden!”

“More like a nuisance,” he replies, “thank you, for lunch, and for cheering me up.”

“You’re welcome, my precious brother. You’re so kind I might even tell mother not to go ahead with the crown of roses,” she teases.

“Now _that_ I wouldn’t mind…”

She flicks his forehead and he yelps, but both siblings are smiling, “get out here, you’re not the only busy one. I’ll see you later.”

He leaves his sister’s bedchamber feeling mildly better, even if he knows it’s only temporary. He kicks himself for having weaknesses, but his fears have the power to override others’ logic, especially when he’s alone, which is most of the time (the occasional servant in the room doesn’t quite count as company).

He should really speak to his mother, but he won’t. He knows well that she will not rescind, and honestly he’s too bitter to beg. He avoids the queen as much as possible. 

Joonmyun proceeds to throw himself into his duties. Whatever he has to do—budget something for the queen, greet the nobles, or help his sickly father out of bed—he dedicates himself to it. If he’s working, he can focus on things other than the fact that his future husband has already left his home kingdom and is on his way to meet his new family before the wedding. Jongin, the southern prince, can remain a faceless, fictional ‘if’ until Joonmyun’s forced to acknowledge him. For now, the crown prince can live in his sweet, sweet denial. If he thinks about it, he’ll panic, and he doesn’t need that right now. He can pretend his days as a bachelor aren’t drawing fewer.

The difficult to maintain fantasy doesn’t last long. Joonmyun’s in a meeting with a few advisors when the dreaded entourage arrive. Luckily, he’s told his mother and sister will be greeting the guests, and he won’t have to acknowledge them until the following day. The anticipation leaves his sleep restless at best, but non-existent if honest.

In honour of the guests, his queen mother organizes a small celebration, a banquet, that feature’s only the Eastern Kingdom’s brightest and most significant residents to welcome the foreign prince. 

Fortunately, his mother decides the two princes should meet each other beforehand. The situation sounds all the more stressful to Joonmyun, but at least he can meet his betrothed properly first, instead of making awkward eye contact across the dining table with dozens of people present. 

They meet in one of his mother’s many rooms, the one she’s filled with many instruments and neglected furniture that serve the important role of collecting royal dust.

It’s the afternoon, and Joonmyun’s been waiting for this terrifying moment all day. The guests are already inside, so the crown prince enters last, with the queen on his arm to lead him. His mother is radiating excitement, and it’s making him nauseous. 

His first impression of Jongin is that he’s tall, with dark hair and eyes, and golden skin, proof that he comes from the south. His second is that Jongin must be nervous as well, what with his awkward and stiff hello, and his lips twisted into something resembling a grimace rather than a smile. 

Joonmyun supposes he might as well be as charming as possible, seeing as his mother is watching him, so he introduces himself with a court but satisfactory bow and smiles up at Jongin with as much charm as he can muster. He’s introduced to Jongin’s cousin, Sehun who looks much more like royalty than the prince with his pale, smooth skin, and somehow he's even taller. Joonmyun never expected that those from the southern kingdom were _tall_. 

In turn, Joonmyun introduces his mother, and overall the first meeting is not unpleasant. Jongin’s complexion is a handsome one, and Joonmyun takes some satisfaction from that fact. 

All goes according to plan, until his mother has the brilliant idea to leave the two of them alone them alone. He wants to protest, but he knows he can’t, not in front of the guests. He bites his tongue so hard he swears he tastes blood as he watches his mother and the other strangers shuffle out of the room. There’s no one to help him now. 

"H-how are you finding your stay in the palace?" Joonmyun asks. He’s been trained so intensely, had social etiquette ingrained so deeply into his brain, that he barely feels like it’s himself asking the question. 

Prince Jongin is looking downwards at his feet, and he’s twisting his fingers into his robes. He’s obviously uncomfortable; this was a terrible idea. 

"Ah, the servants have been very kind thus far, Prince Joonmyun. The palace is also very beautiful," Jongin's response isn't exactly insightful, but he'll take what he can get.

"I hope your guest bedchamber is satisfactory. Forgive me, but I’ve never been to a southern palace, so I’m afraid I’m unaware of what you may have been used to" Joonmyun replies. 

"Oh, things are lovely so far, thank you.” Jongin’s voice is much deeper than his own, but he speaks so softly Joonmyun nearly cranes closer to better listen. 

“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask any of the palace’s servants,” the eastern prince explains. Jongin nods courtly in understanding. 

A moment of awkward silence lapses between them. Joonmyun’s hesitant on how to approach, what questions to ask, and by now it’s glaringly obvious the southern prince is too shy to initiate conversation. 

“Let us sit,” Joonmyun finally declares, gesturing to a fancy set of cushions in the room. He leads Jongin over and they both kneel, not quite facing each other. Normally, Joonmyun can handle these kind of situations, or at least give a satisfactory social performance, but his mind is clouded at the current moment. 

_Did you agree to this match? Were you forced into it as well? Will you be able to love me, and treat me right, and are you the person I’ve been looking for? Are you kind, gentle, smart, assertive? What do you think of me, are you impressed, disappointed?_ these are the things Joonmyun wants to know, but can’t possibly ask. Small talk won’t elucidate the answers, and staring at Jongin, who’s looking around the room, won’t tell him what he wants to know. 

Surprisingly, it’s the younger that breaks the silence. “Do you play?”

“Excuse me?”

“The instruments. This room has many…do you play?”

Jongin gestures to the various musical instruments in the room. They’re mostly there for decoration, and probably way out of tune, but they are playable. 

He responds, “I can play…a few of them. I learnt as a boy to entertain guests, but ever since…well, now I don’t have the time to practice as often as I’d like. My sister, however, is very proficient.”

Jongin nods. “That’s unfortunate. I played often back home, whenever I was bored, or tired, or sad. I’m happy this palace houses so many, even if they aren’t often played,” the prince answers in a soft voice. 

He may speak quietly, but Joonmyun catches a sincere glimpse of joy in the other’s eyes. Joonmyun wonders if Jongin brought his instruments from home with him, or if he expected to be gifted new ones at the new palace. “If you play well, I’d like to hear you play sometime.”

Jongin turns to him, grinning, “if _you_ play well, I’d like to hear you, too.”

Joonmyun’s stunned by how fast the other moves from hesitance to genuine interest. He thought Jongin was handsome immediately, but his unguarded expression is simply beautiful. Jongin wears beauty well. 

They continue to chat about small things, like their siblings (Joonmyun avoids the topic of Minseok), what poems they’ve recently read, and what other hobbies they have to entertain themselves. Unspokenly, they avoid discussion of their upcoming marriage, and their responsibilities to each other. They speak like two people who’ve just happen to come across each other, and not like two princes forced into a room together so that things pass more smoothly when their futures are inevitably bound together. It’s another fantasy, but this one is harmless. He can ignore what Jongin’s presence symbolizes and approach him like he would a new friend. They can be friends now, husbands later. 

Eventually, they’re called to the banquet hall, and the moment between them is broken. Joonmyun’s somewhat relieved, that Jongin is likable, despite his stiff posture and initial shyness. He still feels uneasy about what’s to come, but Kyungsoo was right, he should have waited until he met Jongin to worry. Tonight, he might even get some sleep. 

The celebration passes without issue, and the king even manages to pull himself from his sickbed to make an appearance. There’s a toast to the future couple, which makes Joonmyun want to kneel over and throw up his roast lamb, but he does make eye contact with Jongin a few times, who looks away shyly every time like he’s been caught.

He promises himself to not hate Jongin, not for what he represents. He’ll scorn his mother all he wants, but he can’t attach all that onto Jongin, or he’ll forever be miserable, and he’s sure the other prince doesn’t deserve it.

He dreams a strange dream that night, about a caterpillar who wants to build a cocoon but doesn’t know how.  
***  
Joonmyun’s not sure if the others see it, but Jongin sticks out like a sore thumb. He always dresses in too little, like he’s prepared for hotter weather, and his skin has seen more of the Eastern sun in a week that Joonmyun sees in a year. He holds himself differently, as well, not quit the prince Joonmyun’s trained himself to be. 

Jongdae keeps pestering him about the other prince, as if he’s seen more of him than she has. 

“Why is your prince so handsome? it’s not fair! Are you sure he can’t be mine?” she whispers at him when the royal siblings spot the southern prince as he passes them in the courtyard, probably on his way to his bedchamber. 

He wishes he could tell her alright, and hand her his betrothed. He wishes it could be that simple, undoing the match his mother made, so he could regain his illusion of control. 

At night, he can’t sleep. He wakes up hot and coated in sweat, feeling like he’s going to be sick every time. 

One night, it’s especially bad. Joonmyun awakes from a nightmare, startled and gasping for breath, but the moment his eyes open, he forgets what the dream had been about. He lights a candlestick, and sits in the dark, contemplating how lonely it is. Something possesses him, he’s not sure what, but he reaches for the drawer under his bed. 

It takes him a few moment to find what he’s been looking for in the candle light, but eventually he retrieves the letter and sits on the end of his bed. 

He hasn’t read Minseok’s goodbye message in a very long time. The familiar writing makes his chest fill with lead as he pulls the letter out of the envelope. It was easy to forgive his brother for leaving and dumping all his responsibilities onto Joonmyun. Every shooting star, he silently wishes his brother will come home, even if he knows it will never come true.

He scans his brother’s words. 

_I love Luhan more than anything, more than any crown. Marrying that girl would break the both of us, but it’s more than that. Even if I remained unwed, we could never be together the way we want to be. I beg you to forgive my actions…_

He closes the letter, and tucks it back under his bed. If only he loved someone as much as Minseok had, to the point where they became his world, maybe then he’d understand.

Could he ever have that with Jongin? Will he ever grow to love him? What if he can’t, what if they become nothing more than two acquaintances trapped in a wedding vow? Incomplete.

Fuck. His head throbs. It’s too much to think about, and at this rate he’ll never sleep again. He’ll be showing up to his own wedding wearing a lovely shade of vibrant purple under the eyes. His body thrums with stress, but morning comes, unrelenting. 

The lack of sleep catches up to him, unexpectedly. The night before his wedding his body falls into a deep, dreamless sleep that lasts well after the sun has risen. When he’s woken up by an attendant, encouraging him to wash up quickly, he doesn’t feel well rested. 

He’s eerily calm, and he’s not sure if it’s lingering fatigue or acceptance. 

The attendants dress him like he doesn’t how to do it himself. They give him a fresh pair of underclothes, and begin the process of turning him into a princely groom. The shirt and trousers are white, just as Jongdae promised, and the fabric is heavy and soft against his skin. They tie a sash of red silk around his waist, and present him with a new pair of leather shoes, so polished he can practically see is reflection in them. 

They comb his still-drying hair for him, and take their time making sure every hair on his head is where it’s supposed to be. 

He hasn’t said a word to the servants are they dress him, but he allows himself to be lead to a mirror, to see his reflection.

A prince stares back at him. A prince with porcelain skin, a handsome frown, lavish clothing, and a blank expression. 

The longer he stares, at the shape of his eye, the curve of lips, he can’t deny the familiarity there, the nostalgia for a similar face. Joonmyun sees two princes in the mirror, and he will always be the second. 

The reflection of a child blinks back at him until he has to look away. 

The queen arrives shortly to collect her son. She’s dressed in a vibrant monsoon of turquoise, accented with diamonds. The jewels make the lines of her face and grey of her hair less severe. The glamour keeps her young.

“My handsome prince!” she cries, kissing his cheek. He lets himself be held, like a ragdoll. He’s the first of her children to be wed. This is important for her. His wedding is her big day. 

She drags him by the wrist through the palace and outside. The wedding is being held in the garden, which has been decorated in a sickening amount of silk draperies, because the white peonies and colourful lilies weren’t royal enough. Lanterns have been strung from the tall hedges, which grant the illusion of privacy, so that when the sun sets the party doesn’t have to end. The dining tables, already set with silver utensils, are for later, and his mother leads him towards the altar. 

There’s little formality to it. His mother walks him up the steps and he’s left there as the guests start pouring in to watch the ceremony. So far, he stands there alone. His mother is seated closest, in the king’s seat, because his father is too weak to attend his son’s wedding (Joonmyun wishes he had that excuse).

Trumpets blare, signifying the ‘bride’ has arrived. Jongin walks to the altar, accompanied by his cousin, Sehun. The southern prince is draped in royal blue, with a red sash to match his betrothed. The colours make him look all the more radiant, like he too is a precious gem, a gift for the crown prince. 

The nervousness in the other is palpable, but not so much that he looks like he’ll throw up at the altar. His face reads like a book, though Joonmyun is guarded, Jongin is more confident. He’s young and beautiful, as eager as he is unsure. Joonmyun, in contrast, is young and weighed down by dread. 

The priest begins the ceremony, requesting that the heavenly spirits bless the couple and their kingdom’s alike. The southern king and queen are unavailable, and only one of Jongin’s sister’s is in the crowd. This wedding is a grand affair, but it’s not the wedding the kingdom has been counting down the days for. 

Someone nudges his side, and he turns his head to see Jongin staring expectedly at him. The priest is holding out a piece of string. 

Right...he’s in the middle of a wedding ceremony. With shaky hands, Joonmyun ties the piece of gold string around Jongin’s pinky finger. “This knot symbolizes my loyalty to, my…husband.” The vows come easy from his lips, but they taste bland. 

He should be thankful for this, he should mean the pretty words that he speaks monotonously. He wonders how many have said similar vows, and meant them even less. Jongin’s words are no more assured. Comforting. 

The sun has started its descent from the sky when the marriage becomes official, in the eyes of spirits and human guests. The last act is to drink a sip of wine from the same chalice, and Joonmyun’s sip nearly causes him to choke as half of it goes down his wind pipe. Jongin seems to have less trouble. 

The audience cheers, and immediately Joonmyun is whisked around from person to person to receive his congratulations. He wishes he could shed his solemnity and celebrate for himself. 

“You look like a miserable groom,” a voice remarks, and Joonmyun whips his head around to see Sehun. 

He’s never spoken to the prince’s cousin before, and he can’t read the other’s tone at all. The southerner wears heavy silver earrings, which he’s been informed is common at wedding ceremonies in the south. 

“I’m not an unappreciative one,” he barks back. The last thing he wants is for people to think he’s ungrateful. He can’t give away his discontent, especially to the family of the man he just married. 

Sehun just smirks slyly, like he knows this already. “I never said you were unappreciating, only that your expression might be better worn at a funeral. Is this a two-in-one ceremony?”

The crown prince’s lips twitch into a frown. He doesn’t want to be picked apart by a stranger. “So what? I have about thirty more meaningless congratulations to receive, so if you’ll excuse me.”

He tries to push past him, but Sehun easily blocks him. The other has shoulders wide enough to shield the entire eastern infantry. 

“Let me accompany you,” Sehun suggests, “you might want some company when receiving a slew of insincere compliments, and besides, I’m curious about this handsome prince my Jonginnie has just married. Are you as fairy-tale and untouchable as your reputation implies?”

Joonmyun glares as he mules it over. At least Sehun can serve as a distraction from the overwhelming inauthenticity of the whole affair. 

“Fine, if you insist,” the prince finally sighs. Sehun practically beams. 

He speaks to uncles and aunts, and even several strangers who’re only present by virtue of their blood rank. It’s draining, having so many people focus on him. It’s a tedious task, being a groom, almost as much as being a prince.

The two of them manage to catch a break, and Sehun grabs two glasses of wine off a nearby table and offers one to him. Joonmyun downs it in a few seconds. A row of hedges hides them from view of most of the guests, but someone curious enough will probably find them in a few minutes.

“Let me tell you about Jongin, while we have a moment to ourselves,” Sehun starts up, as he takes a kittenish sip of his wine, seemingly in no hurry to drink, “he’s a kind-hearted person, but he’s spent his life treated like a child because he’s so much younger than his sisters. He’s not spoiled, but…he’s not used to being taken seriously."

Joonmyun’s never known being the youngest. He’s known being the middle child, and now the eldest. 

“I’m telling you this because I can’t stay here on vacation and be Jongin’s friend forever, I have my own life waiting for me. This is his chance to prove himself, but it’s something he has to realize for himself. All I ask is for someone to allow Jongin to become more than he was back home,” Sehun explains. 

Sehun regards him so seriously Joonmyun feels the wine slosh around in his stomach.

Can he even be that person? They’re a match made in court not heaven. That’s too much expectation.

Sehun waits to his reply, which he can’t seem to manage, when someone calls out his name. 

This voice is familiar, and more than that, unexpected. 

“Irene?”

“Joonmyun! It’s so good to see you, it’s been too long since I visited the palace. I had to make sure I made it to an old friend’s wedding!” she remarks.

Sehun excuses himself, to let the old friends catch up. It’s been ages since he last saw Irene, when her family decided to move to a periphery province, away from the capital. It’s been so long he’s forgotten that he missed her company. 

“Congratulations! I was so shocked getting that wedding invitation, but you look handsome, and I’m happy for you.”

Irene has always been pretty, and tonight she’s wearing a set of red robes with white roses embroidered onto the sleeves. The colours of her dress match what he’s wearing, and he can’t help himself from imagining what it would have been like if she were his bride instead. 

They’d never been more than friends, but Irene was beautiful, and right now she looks exactly like every hypothetical bride Joonmyun imagined himself asking to marry one day. Maybe had the decision been left to him, he might have chosen her. More important than how stunning she looks, she is somebody he knows. If he could have married her instead, he wouldn’t have married a stranger.

Her presence is almost mocking. She’s so sweetly familiar. 

“Joonmyun?”

He blinks. He’d gotten lost in his own thoughts. He opens his mouth to tell her she looks well, but Jongdae is suddenly at his side, informing him the feast is about to start. 

He casts her an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry, but seems I have to go.”

She seems unfazed, “that’s fine; tonight you’re a busy man. Maybe after the feast we can reconnect some more.”

Joonmyun doubts it. He can’t tell her, but it’ll be heartbreaking trying to talk to her when all he can imagine is her as his bride. He’s married now, there’s no point to what ifs. He has Jongin; the ceremony is over, and there’s no going back on his words. 

The wedding dinner is easy, because he can focus on food and wine, instead of the people around him. His mother is on one side of them, chatting with the guests, her voicing ringing loudly in the open garden space. 

Jongin is at his other side, and he has his sister beside him, a princess just as beautiful as her brother.  
Joonmyun doesn’t particularly care to hear his mother brag about him, so he focusses on Jongin’s conversation with his sister.

Obviously, Jongin is much more comfortable in the presence of his family than anyone else, because his reservations seemingly disappear. He laughs openly at his sister’s comments, a high-pitch sound that cuts through the other voices, but is no less infectious, and he smiles so wide Joonmyun could count all his teeth if he wanted to. It could just be the wine in his system, but he feels at ease seeing Jongin enjoying himself. 

In some way, he’s jealous. Jongin sounds so free, midflight as he laughs beside him, above expectations. Joonmyun is the opposite. He’s grounded by responsibilities, wrapped up in a ball of silk, his princely shell. They encircle him, and wind him tight. Compared to Jongin, he’s a stage underdeveloped. 

When dinner is over the sky starts to darken, and servants light the lanterns so that the celebration can continue. The wine has gotten to him, and it makes him feel lighter, like he could float away, but it also makes him easy target for his mother. The queen parades him around, listing achievements and plans for his future that he’s never agreed to or heard of. It’s easy to drown out her words. She’s already married him without his approval, it’s not like she can do much worse. 

Jongdae saves him after a while, and she talks to him about silly things, like how his hair looks funny, or that their mother could have afforded better cooks for the wedding meal. She complains, but the mood is lighthearted. He’s so thankful for her—he hugs here while she’s mid-sentence and she hugs him back, calling him a sentimental drunk.

“There’s so many great things ahead of you, Joonmyun. You’ll find a way to do things your own way, and be amazing at it. I can’t wait until you’re king,” Jongdae remarks, swinging and arm over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he replies. He’s not sure he believes that for himself, but having someone else believe in him makes him feel better. All is not lost. 

He’s scared to leave his own wedding early, so he stays until the end. He kisses his family goodnight, and an attendant leads him back to his bedchamber. He assumes it’s because he’s drunk, so he lets himself enjoy the company. Late nights are often lonely ones, after all. 

He’s handed a small clay jar. He opens the lid and sniffs the contents. It’s some sweet smelling oil, but he’s not entirely sure what it is exactly. He shrugs, whatever is inside can wait until the morning.

He enters his bedchamber and notices two unusual things. Firstly, the room is already lit, and second, there’s someone in his bed. 

“What are you doing here?” Joonmyun asks, utterly confused. Doesn’t Jongin have his own bed to sleep in?

Jongin raises a brow, “I was brought here. It’s our wedding night, you know, the ceremony doesn’t end when we step off the altar.”

Joonmyun blinks several times in rapid succession, and drops the jar in his hands. It hits the floor and shatters, oil splattering all over the room and onto his new shoes. 

He’d forgotten somehow, that he’s expected to consummate his marriage. He’s supposed to sleep with his new husband, establish their relationship. 

This _should_ be the easy part. It should be easy to say alright, and slip under the covers. Jongin is beautiful, and his full lips can so easily be kissed, and his tanned skin can so easily be marked by nips and bites. His robe has slipped down, exposing his shoulder. How easy would it be for Joonmyun to step forward and tug his clothes the rest of the way off? He should indulge in his gift. 

He doesn’t. He freaks out instead. 

“I-I,” he stammers. Jongin stares at him, startled. 

He can’t do this. He can’t go this far for his mother. This is too much. 

He leaves. He slams the sliding door behind him and darts down the hallway. It’s dark, and he nearly trips twice, but he doesn’t stop or turn back. Frantically, he runs. 

He didn’t see it coming, but this was his limit. This was the limit to how far he could be pushed.

Without realizing where he’d gone, he finds himself slumped against the door of the general study. The door is locked, but he doesn’t move to go somewhere else. The corridor up here is quiet, and none of the torches are lit. It’s empty and cold, but it’s a familiar place, the place he always goes to when he’s afraid. It’s anywhere other than his bed.

The last few minutes play over and over in his head, until it must have been hours ago. Sobs billow from his chest, and he sees no point in quieting them; no one will hear him. He only gets one wedding and one wedding night, and it’s ruined. He got one shot at love and it’s been ruined before it ever had a chance. 

No wonder Minseok left. In this palace, a prince’s best friend is misery, and at night he takes loneliness as his lover. There’s never been room for anyone else. 

The alcohol starts to wear off, and the pain is his forehead grows stronger. He curls up on the floor, and rests his head in his arms. Joonmyun closes his eyes, and wishes he wasn’t the crown prince, wishes he wasn’t Joonmyun. 

There’s a period of darkness before someone shakes him awake. His eyes are glued shut, and it takes him several attempts to open them.

Kyungsoo is frowning down at him. The vision of his friend is so reassuring that Joonmyun nearly cries, but he’s dehydrated, and Kyungsoo doesn’t look pleased. 

“Care to explain?”

The prince shakes his head. 

“Get up,” Kyungsoo commands. His knees don’t quite let him obey, and like a puppet he lets Kyungsoo manhandle him down the hall. He’s thrust into a room and then unceremoniously dropped on his ass onto a bed. It takes him a moment to realize he’s in Kyungsoo’s room. The only observation he can make it that it’s neat. 

He feels pathetic sitting there, shivering because he’s cold, or because he’s tired, or both. 

Kyungsoo shuffles around, but Joonmyun doesn’t take notice. He feels worse than he did the night before, and his mouth tastes rotten. It’s always scarier walking up to a nightmare than slipping into one. 

“Drink this,” Kyungsoo instructs, holding something under Joonmyun’s nose. It’s a cup of tea, and he holds it and takes a small sip. It burns his tongue, but the heat from the cup helps to warm him. 

After he manages to take a few more less-scalding sips, he blurts out “thank you!”

He hears Kyungsoo sigh, “You’re damn lucky it’s early enough that no one else caught you laying there. It’s not every day you see the crown prince curled up into a ball of the floor after his wedding night.”

He shouldn’t have done that, but what else could he have done? Where else could he have gone?

Kyungsoo shifts and places an arm behind him, “come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

“No!” Joonmyun gasps. What if Jongin’s still there?

Kyungsoo tugs him onto his feet, “I said let’s go,” he grits out, and doesn’t leave room for debate. Unwillingly, he lets Kyungsoo take him to his bedchamber. His feet drag on the floor, his stomach turns upside-down. 

His bedroom is empty. The sheets are wrinkled, evidence that someone had been there, but once Kyungsoo forces him under the covers, he takes note that the bed is cold. 

In his own bed Joonmyun can close his eyes and pretend everything is okay. 

He sleeps for hours. There’s no schedule after his wedding; he’s meant to be spending this time with his husband. A servant brings him breakfast, and he doesn’t bother getting out of bed to eat it. 

He takes a bath, trying to wash something immaterial off his skin, but it clings. He changes into new clothes, that aren’t what he got married in, and heads back to his bedchamber.  
***  
He doesn’t see Jongin anywhere. His mother seems very concerned when his new husband repeatedly doesn’t show up for dinner, but Sehun leans over and whispers into her ear, and it seems to satisfy her and she asks no more questions. 

Sehun glares at him from across the table, and causes Joonmyun to lose his appetite. However, a few days later, he’s gone, back to the south. 

The days pass and Jongin is a ghost, and he wonders if the wedding even happened in the first place. He spends most of his time in solitude. 

It weighs down on him. He needs to talk about it; he needs Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo’s words aren’t always kind or gentle, but he’s not head scholar for nothing, and he always knows what Joonmyun needs to hear, even if he doesn’t want to.

It’s late enough in the evening when he goes to see him that he decides to check his friend’s chambers before he searches anywhere else for him. Kyungsoo might be busy, but he needs to speak to somebody. He needs some kind of advice. 

As he approaches the door he can hear Kyungsoo voice speaking softly coming from inside, so he doesn’t hesitate to slide the door open.

He hears the other voice too late. He freezes in the doorway.

It’s Jongin. 

“Joonmyun,” Kyungsoo exclaims, eyes wide at Joonmyun’s unannounced entrance.

Jongin shoots him the most spiteful look and storms out of the room, his shoulder brushing Joonmyun’s and knocking him backwards. He stands there, in shock, for half a minute. 

“What was he doing here?” he asks. He doesn’t mean for his tone to be accusing but he can’t help it, Kyungsoo is supposed to a safe space. 

“I expect the same reason you’re here, Joonmyun. I’ve had enough dealing with this drama, officially,” Kyungsoo retorts.

“Since when…how does he even know who you are?”

“Come on, we both live here in this palace. I passed by him attempting to tune one of your mother’s instruments, and decided to help him out. Apparently I have a soft spot for sad princes. He asked a lot of questions about you. Most of his worries revolve around you as well.”

Joonmyun tilts his head, “around me?”

Kyungsoo’s expression is approaching on furious, “what? Did you think he’d just laugh it off when you ran out on him? Have you thought about what he might be going through, or have you only thought about yourself?”

“I—”  
“Don’t bother with excuses! I’m tired of this! For fuck’s sake, Joonmyun, I don’t want to have to tell you what to do. Stop being selfish, and stop running away from the person you’re married to. You owe him an apology, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and fix this mess, because I am done with it!” 

And with that, Kyungsoo closes the door in his face. The door frame rattles.

That hadn’t been…the advice he’d been expecting, but he reflects on Kyungsoo’s words.

It’s true, isn’t it? He’d forgotten that Jongin was in the same boat as him, and wasn’t another person trying to make his life miserable.

Jongin’s just like him, married to a stranger. They probably have shared the same fears, but he never bothered to ask Jongin how he felt. He’d been so inside his own head, he’d forgotten that Jongin was a person he could hurt. 

He could have done anything else on the wedding night other than run out of the room like a coward. He could have opened up, express his fears, but he hadn’t considered Jongin’s wellbeing at all. 

He deserved that glare from Jongin, and Kyungsoo’s shouting. He deserves a lot worse. 

He’s such a fucking idiot. 

He needs to apologize, immediately. 

Joonmyun storms down the hallway, but his husband is already gone from sight. He peaks into several of the guest bedrooms but there was no trace of him. 

The fire in him dies out, and is replaced by a dull sense of guilt. Jongin deserves someone better than him, an insecure prince, too afraid of his own crown. 

He doesn’t find Jongin, but he will. He’ll find him and apologize, and say all that needs to be said. For now, he can craft his words, prepare what to say, because he can’t afford to make this any worse. This marriage has been messy from the beginning, but Joonmyun needs to sort things out, because he’s doubtful either of them can last through much more of this. 

He needs to use the cards he’d been dealt to win at least one fucking game.  
***  
It’s not easy to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. The servants keep their mouths sealed, and Jongin, wherever he’s hiding, keeps to himself. Joonmyun grows more anxious as time passes, because the longer he waits, the less effective his apology will be. He needs to clear the air before it becomes too much and Jongin decides to never forgive him. Even now, he might be unpardonable. 

It’s after a full day of budgeting the kingdom’s entire list of expenses with the financial advisors, because his mother has better things to do, that Joonmyun goes out alone for fresh air. He hasn’t been in the garden since the wedding. Some of the flowers have gone out of season, but the summer flowers are blooming, the one’s that prefer the heat. 

It smells different that on the day of the wedding. He walks through the hedges, and though it’s dark out, Joonmyun knows the way. He’s escaped here plenty of times, and sat by the pond. Tonight isn’t cloudy, so he should be able to see the reflection of the moon perfectly in the still water. 

Apparently he’s not the only one who prefers the serenity of nature to people at the moment.

Jongin sits with his toes in the water. To the right of him sits a mandolin. Joonmyun wonders if this is where Jongin escapes to, and serenades the fish in the pond. Fish, at least, are expected to run away from you. They’re probably better company anyways. 

Joonmyun clears his throat.

Jongin startles and turn around. 

“Can we…talk?” Joonmyun asks.  
Jongin’s eyes go from startled deer to venomous once he realizes who’s talking to him. 

“No.”

Joonmyun expected about as much. “Please, Jongin. Can you at least listen to what I have to say?” he pleads.

“No,” he replies, more firmly. Jongin grabs the mandolin and gets to his feet, like he’s ready to make a run for it. He doesn’t understand how Jongin still has the energy to run from him. Every day Joonmyun’s spent looking for him, and working over what wants to say, he becomes more and more exhausted. He has to get it out now. 

“Jongin, _please_!” Joonmyun cries, “I promise to leave you alone after this. Tell me whatever you want to say. Tell me everything I’ve done wrong. I already know that I’ve fucked this up, let’s talk about it.”

Jongin’s grip on the mandolin visibly tightens, “what the hell? If you want me to talk to you so badly then fine, I will.

"I came here for your sake, not mine. There’s nothing for me back home, so why not take a risk, move to a new kingdom, and meet new people? Too bad the people here don’t seem the care. They talked me up, about how honourable this was and shit, and how you’d be so grateful to marry a prince like me. I can see now they lied, because you never wanted me here.

“You treat me like dirt, like a terrible mistake. I left my whole family behind for this, because I thought someone wanted me, but you just look like you’re going to be sick every time our eyes meet. The thought of us sharing a bed sickens you! You wish I weren’t here!”

“Jongin,” Joonmyun tries to interrupt, “I was scared—”

“You begged me to speak, now let me finish! I don’t care if you’re scared, it hurts me that you don’t want me. I feel like I’m nothing, just an inconvenience to His Royal Highness. I regret everything. I cried so many times—fuck—I wished to go home, but I can’t, because we’re married. I’m stuck with you, someone who hates me.”

Jongin eyes are trained downwards, and from here Joonmyun can see that his shoulders are shaking. He’s so upset, and it’s all his fault. He was trapped in his own head, poisoned by his own doubts, but Jongin is the same.

“I don’t hate you! I don’t hate you, please, Jongin. I’m an idiot but you’ve done nothing to make me hate you.”

Jongin scoffs, and runs his sleeve over his face, “don’t lie to me. You can say you despise me. I’d rather you tell me the truth.”

Joonmyun groans, frustrated. “It is the truth! When I met you I promised myself I wouldn’t hate you. I hate what my mother’s done, and I hated that she arranged my marriage, but you’re not at fault, and you don’t deserve to be blamed for it. You’re a victim too.”

“Then what do I deserve? You left me on the wedding night, and you ignored me for days, I deserve that instead?” the other cries. He drops the instrument, and hands cover his face. Jongin doesn’t even want Joonmyn to see his tears.

He runs his hand through his hair. He thought he could apologize in one breath, and get every thought out in the open, but explaining how he feels is harder than he imagined. “No, you don't. You don't deserve that. Jongin, it was incredibly selfish of me to leave you there, but understand that I was afraid. This marriage is everything that's frightened me for so many years, and it feels like my life has been spiralling out of control. I couldn’t face you, because I can't even face myself. I can't even look at myself in the mirror. I was holding on to one last hope, one self-centred, impossible hope, and I didn't know how to cope when it was taken away.” 

He sniffles, and scoffs at himself, “I'm a mess, honestly. I'm so sorry you ended up here, with someone like me. Fuck, I'm sorry, Jongin, you don't deserve me, someone who doesn't even have the strength to face their own reflection.”

He waits for Jongin to say something.

“Joonmyun. _What_ are you so scared of? What about this is so intimidating, if it isn’t me?”

“I just...” Joonmyun’s words are failing him. “Ever since Minseok…”

“ _Who_ is Minseok? A lover I wasn’t informed about? _That would explain it_.”

Joonmyun shakes his head, “My brother, Minseok.”

“Brother?”

The crown prince sighs, “Yes, my older brother. He’s the true heir, and he would have made a great king. He was everything I aspired to be, and all he ever asked for was to be with his love. My mother, this kingdom, these fucking rules placed on us, they couldn’t grant him what he wanted. So, he left. He gave up the crown because he couldn’t go through with his arranged marriage. I can't even be angry at that, because he deserved happiness, nothing was fair to him. But fuck, he left so I became his replacement. I had to fill his shoes, I had to rearrange my whole life to replace my brother.”

“How…” Jongin’s voice calls out, “how did I not know about that? Why didn’t anybody tell me something that important? You wouldn’t have made me feel so awful about myself if you had just told me what was wrong.”

Joonmyun snorts, “My family keeps this a secret. I just thought maybe you’d understand, or turn out to be a dream or something. I think the real reason was I just wasn’t thinking, period. I was living my life in my own bubble.”

“And that's why you’ve been so against my presence?" the other is hesitant to ask.

“Yes, because an arranged marriage is what stopped Minseok from being with the person he loved, and it reminds me of how much control my parents have over my life. If my mother ever fucking cared maybe Minseok wouldn't have left. I thought maybe, our family had learnt something from the experience, but apparently not. Money is too good to respect your child's wishes for. I've remodelled my life, worked every day to become someone I can't be, and like an idiot I thought the benefit to this was I could be free to fall in love. I was a fool, I’m sorry.”

He feels even worse, crying like this in the middle of the garden. The whole situation was bad from the beginning, but like it’s his talent, Joonmyun’s made everything worse than it ever needed be. They could have been friends, and avoided anyone’s feelings getting hurt to this extreme.

“Joonmyun, I'm sorry. That’s not... what I ever expected to hear. I don't...”

“Don't forgive me for this. I made it all about me when it's never been about just me. It’s about all of us that are trapped. I neglected you when you needed at least one person by your side, when you were all alone in a foreign kingdom…” he doesn’t deserve to be forgiven. He wouldn’t forgive himself. 

Jongin takes him time to answer. “Joonmyun... I forgive you, because I know, now at least, you didn't mean to hurt me, or make me feel unwanted. You were selfish, but I understand you were troubled, so I'm going to forgive you, because no matter how either of us feels, we are married now,” Jongin states, and it's true, there's nowhere to go but to move forward, “we haven’t started off on the right foot, but I don't want you fears to come true, I don’t want to become your living nightmare. I think we should try, to get closer and become friends. Let's turn our parent's decisions into something better than what we've been lead to imagine. I want us to embrace this, even if we didn’t have a choice.”

Joonmyun cries harder at that, cries hard enough to be embarrassed, because he’s so relieved. He was so scared he’d ruined it between them forever, “Thank you so much, Jongin. I’ll do my best, as a husband, and friend, to make your time at this palace enjoyable. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

They stand awkwardly, sniffling quietly, as they calm down.

Jongin wipes his nose, “so, this is a lot of emotions for me and I’m pretty embarrassed about how wet my face is right now. Can I get a hug, you know, so I don’t start hiccup sobbing?”

The prince laughs at that, even if his face is wet as well, and he’s certain he’s closer to hiccups than the younger, “yes, I’ll give you a hug.”

Jongin shoots him a tiny smile, and steps into his arms. Jongin has to bend down to hide his face in Joonmyun’s neck, and Jongin squeezes him tight. He squeezes back, and feels the tension bleed from his body. Even if it’s submitting to what he’d openly called a betrayal of his trust, he’s willing to go along with it, because Jongin isn’t someone he wants to throw away, or give up on. If he’s learnt anything, it’s that sometimes you have to take a risk.

“That was a conditional hug,” Joonmyun announces when they break apart. Their faces might be red, and his own is probably blotchy, but he’s filled with so much genuine relief he can’t stop smiling despite himself.

“Conditional?” Jongin squeaks, “I thought that was part of the apology.”

Joonmyun smirks, “nope! The condition is you have to play music for me.”

Jongin pouts. It’s cute, and Joonmyun has no idea how he could have neglected his husband, he’d rather dote on him instead, “I thought we agreed to play for each other.”

“That’s true, but you only have one instrument, and I’m not good with the mandolin. I’m better at the flute, and I don’t have one handy,” Joonmyun explains.

Jongin plops down onto the grass, “ugh, fine, but only one song. And later, another time, we’ll play together.”

Joonmyun nods, “I promise.”

And they do. They play together many times. Jongin learns the flute, which he picks up easily, and Joonmyun becomes proficient enough with the strings that even Jongdae is impressed. He plays for Jongin, and recommends him poetry to read. At night, they meet in the gardens, and share their interests and feelings with one other. They started off manufactured, mismatched, but they’ve grown on each other. Joonmyun isn’t wound as tight when he can sing softly in the garden to the melody of a mandolin, as the sun sets above them. The strings around his body unravel and peel away. Slowly, he learns not to always be afraid of what he can’t control; sometimes you have to ride the wave and see where it breaks so you don't drown.

The summer ends like that, forgiven and happier than Joonmyun’s been since his brother left and his perception of the world was first shattered. The weather gets colder, but it’s no matter, they can always bring the music indoors.  
***  
The king passes away in winter, the day of the first snow fall. 

The news follows a night of unrest for Joonmyun. Often still, sleep evades him, and he spends nights staring into the dark of his bedroom. Usually, Jongin sleeps beside him, and Joonmyun can listen to the sound of the other’s breathing to steady himself. Sometimes he has to wake Jongin up, because there’s feelings caught in his throat, and he has to get them out. His husband is always grumpy when woken up, but he listens to Joonmyun silently when the crown prince has to explain a nightmare, or a fear that creeps up in his mind that he can’t shake out. 

The night his father passes, Joonmyun had endured without waking the prince beside him. The bedchamber had been particularly cold, and he’d huddled closer to the other warmth on the bed. The wind had knocked at the palace windows, whistling its discontent. That night the spirits had mourned loudly. 

When Jongdae tells him the news, he feels guilt. He should have visited his father more often in his dying days. At the funeral he holds his sister’s hand as she wipes her tears, and he assures Jongin that he’s fine. He watches as his mother stares at the coffin, her eyes dry and hard. He can never tell what the queen is thinking, but he thinks he sees her sadness.

As the mourning of the family and the kingdom starts to alleviate, and the loss becomes less suffocating, Joonmyun feels more panicked than ever. The kingdom needs a king. He doesn’t know if he’s ready, to take on the new responsibility, but he has his sister, his husband, and even his mother, to help guide him. The crown may sit heavy on his shoulders, but he won’t know the weight of it unless he picks it up. 

“I think you’ll be a great king,” Jongin mumbles as they lie together in Joonmyun’s bed. They’d been practicing music, but the cold weather had them abandoning their fun and shimmying under the blankets to stay warm.

Joonmyun hums, “at the very best, I’ll probably be okay. I’ll be better than my mother, that’s for sure.”

“Speaking of your mother,” Jongin starts, “shouldn’t she schedule your coronation soon? The kingdom is awkward without a ruler.”

Joonmyun agrees, “It’s also more vulnerable. I guess I’ll have to talk to her about it.”

Jongin rolls onto his side, and Joonmyun can smell the soap in his hair. “Can you sing for me?”

Joonmyun obliges. He sings a melody Jongin taught him a while back, something his old music teacher had taught him as a child. It’s an old Southern folk song. By reflex, Jongin relaxes, and within minutes he falls asleep. 

Jongin isn’t his Luhan, not yet, but he’s someone the crown prince is grateful for. He doesn’t fantasize anymore about other brides, or who he would have chosen had he held the right to pick. Instead he silently thanks his mother for finding a person who gives him strength, and who he can confide in. He has many plans for when he’s crowned king, but for now he swears to keep Jongin happy.  
***  
He waits a few more days before he goes to see his mother. She’s in her bedchamber, and she’s sitting by the window. It’s reminiscent of that last time he sought her out, when she’d first revealed to him her plans for his marriage. She’s less intimidating now, as she watches raindrops hit the glass, or maybe Joonmyun’s learnt to fear her less. 

“Mother,” he says in greeting, hoping to catch her attention.

She moves only her eyes, “what is it child, why are you bothering me at such an hour?”

The sun hasn’t even started to set, so Joonmyun has no idea what she’s talking about.

“I’m here because I’ve been wondering when we’ll be scheduling my coronation—”

“Coronation?” she asks, rising from her chair. 

“Y-yes,” Joonmyun takes a step back, “I know we’re still mourning father, but I think we should at least choose a date, sometime this month, maybe? It will reflect poorly on our kingdom if the monarchy isn’t stable, and I’m father’s named heir.”

She approaches him, and he stays still, and lets his mother press her hand to his cheek. “My young boy, don’t worry about crowns so soon. I’ll carry out your father’s duties, so you needn’t worry.”

Joonmyun feels like he’s been slapped. “Mother, I’ve been preparing to take over from father for years now. I should be crowned; they aren’t father’s duties anymore, they’re mine.”

She frowns and takes her hand back, “I see no reason for you to be king this moment. We’re not in crisis.”

“But we will be!”

“Enough, don’t disobey the queen!”

This time she really does slap him, against the cheek. He gapes at her, eyes wide, but she turns around to face away from him. “This discussion is over.”

“It is not!” he cries, “your regency ends at father’s death, and I am well above the age to rule and in perfect health. The only reason not to hand me control, the title you’ve been grooming me for, is because you’ve gotten comfortable pretending _you’re_ king.

She sinks herself back into her chair, “nonsense, I do this for the good of our kingdom.”

“Mother, while you play chess games, I’ve been doing the tasks you’ve put yourself above. You’ve had your fun, but the show is over. You’ve told me who to marry after you lead me to believe you wouldn’t, and now you think you can hold onto your power, after pushing me every day to ready myself for this moment? That’s madness mother, and that’s selfish,” he seethes. 

She looks angry enough to hit him again, “I didn’t raise you to speak like this!”

“Because you raised me to be your pawn!” Joonmyun shouts. “Whatever, I’ll speak to the council, they’re your friends but they have no right to deny me my crown. You can attend the coronation or not, see if I care, but it’ll happen either way. Father would be disappointed.”

He can tell that he’s shaken her, and she’s speechless. He turns on his heels, for the first time in his life victorious against her, and marches out of her room. 

He doesn’t cool down until he gets back to his bedchamber, and he sits on the edge of his bed, and holds his face in his hands. It took so long to stand up to her, but there’s nothing she can do to stop Joonmyun from becoming king. 

At dinner time, their mother is absent, and he takes her place at the head of the table. Jongdae informs him she’s packing her things, and leaving to ‘retire’ in the countryside, outside the capital. 

“You really got her good, but don’t worry, she’ll get over it once she realizes you’re right. She loved pretending to be king, but she loves you more. Besides, with you at the throne, and my superior future children as your heirs, the Eastern Kingdom will flourish,” Jongdae remarks. 

He knows it’s true. Their mother will get over it, and it was necessary. She’ll forgive him…probably.

He chats with Jongdae for a while, happy to savour the aura of his win. It’s late when he retires back to his bedchamber.

“Joonmyun!” Jongin cries, and he throws his arms around his husband. 

“Hey,” Joonmyun greets, and Jongin leans down at kisses him.

It’s not that they haven’t kissed in all the months they’ve been getting along, but they’ve been treating their marriage like a friendship. This isn’t just a quick peck of affection. This is a real kiss.

Without detaching their lips, Jongin maneuvers them to the bed, and Joonmyun falls backwards. Before Jongin can attack his mouth again, he grabs his husband’s face.

“What’s the meaning of this?” it’s not that he minds, particularly, being kissed by the person he’s been slowly falling for, but he is confused.

Jongin merely grins, “I don’t know, I’m proud of you? I want to kiss you? I’ve wanted to kiss you like that for a long time, actually.”

Joonmyun raises a brow, “Oh yeah, how long?”

“Do you want the honest answer, where I say since I first saw you, or the sentimental answer, where I say since I learnt you didn’t hate me? Or maybe, you want the inappropriate answer?” his husband asks, pressing brief kisses along his neck and jawline.

Joonmyun laughs, feeling ticklish, and revels in playful and adoring mood, “what’s the inappropriate answer?”

Jongin’s grin is wolfish, “since I first saw you play the flute.”

His husband’s mouth reconnects with his own, and he moans unabashedly, because the slide of Jongin’s lips feels so right. He lets Jongin hold him down and kiss him, until his body is hot and he’s panting into his partner’s mouth.

He flips them over. It’s so much more pleasing like this, appreciating Jongin’s body, than being pressed under him, even if he can’t deny he enjoys that too. He tongues at Jongin’s throat, sucking hard at the flesh as his husband squirms underneath him. When he’s finished with one spot, he pulls away, and admires the red mark he’s left there. Maybe by morning it’ll bruise. The thought encourages suck on more of Jongin’s beautiful skin, right above his collar bone.

Jongin shifts under Joonmyun’s assault, and he rubs against Joonmyun, the perfect friction that rips a whine from his throat. 

“T—too many clothes,” Jongin huffs, and he takes the opportunity to slide his arms out of his night robe. Joonmyun helps him untie the sash around the middle, and Joonmyun gets to take in the sight of his husband’s nude body underneath him. He can’t help it, his hands fall to Jongin’s hips, and he slides them down, feeling Jongin’s firm thighs. He’s been wondering for a while, what Jongin will look like, and sound like, when they eventually progressed to more intimate activities, but the real thing is better than the fantasy.

The inside of Jongin’s thighs are soft, and he moves his mouth down there. Jongin practically squeals, “I can see…that you like…what you see,” Jongin pants, “but maybe another time…when I haven’t been waiting for several months.”

He gives Jongin’s thigh a parting kiss, “and pray tell, what do you suggest I do instead?”

“Well, I have an idea.” He breaks into a moan—curtesy of Joonmyun thumb brushing his nipple, “we still have a marriage to consummate, if you’re…hng— _stop_ —down?”

He presses a kiss to Jongin’s temple. The suggestion does sound tempting. “Are you sure?”

“Oh my god, yes _please_!” Jongin cries out, “but hurry. If you tease me any more I’ll explode.”

Joonmyun chuckles, and pushes off the bed to get what he needs, arousal heavy between his legs, “I don’t know if I’d mind that.”

It takes a few minutes to find the jar he’s looking for, similar in contents to the one he’d been given on his wedding night. It’s strange, to think about how they’ve come, as partners. It was a commitment he’d been afraid of, but now there was nothing more natural than being with Jongin. He sets it on the nightstand and dips his fingers into the oils, and pounces back onto the bed. Jongin, apparently unable to wait for his returns, strokes himself as he eyes are closed shut.

“Look at me,” Joonmyun commands. His husband stills his hand and opens his eyes. Jongin’s face is flushed, and his pupils are dilated with how much his body needs. Joonmyun can only suppose he looks similarly. “Can you spread your legs for me?”

“Yesss,” Jongin replies in one long breath. He opens his long, toned thighs and Joonmyun’s cock throbs when Jongin’s entrance is exposed to him.

He tries to be as gentle as he can when he spreads Jongin’s cheeks with one hand, and presses a lubed finger to his hole. It’s tight, and it take a bit of wiggling for the tip of the digit to slip in. Jongin lets out a breath. Joonmyun’s never done this before (on someone else at least) but he’s been given plenty of instruction, especially by people he’d rather not hear it from.

“How does it feel?” he asks before he pushes in further.  
Jongin arches his back, ‘it’s—I don’t know—I want more.”

Joonmyun does as he asks. The muscle relaxes enough for him to slide in his finger up to the knuckle, and slowly, he strokes Jongin’s walls. His husband moans, so he keeps doing it, until he’s loose enough for a second finger. With two digits caressing his insides, Jongin starts to rock, searching for rhythm. 

As much as he loves Jongin’s sounds, he wants more. He scissors his fingers, and crooks them, and he bites his lip when Jongin yelps in pleasure. “Oh, oh, right there,” Jongin moans, and Joonmyun rubs the spot a few times before he slips his fingers out. 

He kisses Jongin on the lips once before he coats his cock as well, and slowly, he lines it up with Jongin’s entrance. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Joonmyun, please,” Jongin whimpers. Joonmyun lets Jongin wrap his long, bronze legs around his waist, and he pushes in, ever so slowly, inch by inch. The slide is wet, but slow, and Joonmyun can’t help but cry out when he’s sheathed all the way inside. Jongin feels so wonderful, clenched around him.

He waits till he feels him relax before he tries to move. He rocks shallowly a few times, but when Jongin cries out for more he pushes in hard. Jongin feels too good, wrapped around him; he won’t last long. He pushes his face to Jongin’s neck, and his husband slides a hand into his hair, and the other curves around Joonmyun’s back. 

He reaches between them to grab Jongin’s arousal, and he tries to jerk him off at the same pace as his thrusts. His hand isn’t sure, and his thrusts have no aim, but Jongin doesn’t complain. He sings praises, and Joonmyun hopes no one passes by his bedchamber. 

Jongin comes first, across both their stomachs. He’s loud about it, but Joonmyun kisses his cheek and slides out, not wanting to make a mess. He jerks his cock in his hand, and comes with a gasp, catching most of it. Immediately, Joonmyun’s legs give out, and he falls against Jongin’s chest. 

Joonmyun grabs a bedside cloth and cleans them both, before he tosses it onto the floor. He resettles against Jongin, snuggling close to his husband’s chest that rises and falls and he tries to catch his breath. As their bodies cool down, their sweat in the cold bedroom makes goosebumps rise on their skin but they don’t move under the covers. Jongin’s arms wrap around him, and here, with his husband, he feels secure. 

“Joon?” Jongin mumbles, close to sleep it seems.

Joonmyun shifts against Jongin’s chest, so he can see the other’s face.

“Just wanted to say that I love you, and that you’re going to be an amazing king. They’ll write poems about you, and stuff,” Jongin mumbles.

Warmth bursts in Joonmyun’s heart, “what prompts you to say that?”

“Rude, you’re supposed to say you love me back,” Jongin groans, “but I don’t know, maybe because our marriage is finally valid after half a year? I just wanted to say it, before I forgot and fell asleep. Everything happens for a reason, I think. The spirits wanted you to be king, so they made it happen.”

Joonmyun laces his hand with Jongin’s, “I’m happy the spirits sent you to me, even if their methods are questionable. You’ve taught me a lot Jongin, about myself, about marriage, about the universe. Sometimes the universe is nice to me. Together, we’ll make this kingdom great.”

“Yeah,” Jongin agrees sleepily, “goodnight, Joonmyun.”

“Goodnight, Jongin,” he returns.

 

“I love you, too,” A hesitant prince admits.  
***  
Joonmyun sits on a garden bench, enjoying the summer breeze. He can hear Jongin’s voice somewhere, as he plays with their nieces. Joonmyun would join in on the fun, but he’s tired. For the last month, he’s been working nonstop trying to pass a new law allowing a princess the same inheritance rights as a firstborn son, so Jongdae’s daughters can take the throne after him. They’re only young girls now, but one day they’ll be fit to be queens in their own right. There’s a lot of laws he’s been trying to overturn, sometimes unsuccessfully, but he still fights the system anyways. 

A tiny mouth presses against his cheek. Jongin holds their youngest niece as she kisses her uncle, the king. Joonmyun ruffles her hair and Jongin lets her waddle her way back to her mother. Jongdae doesn’t live at the palace anymore, but she visits often enough. 

Jongin presses a kiss to his cheek and well, and collapses into his husband’s side. It’s strange for him to think, that just a few years ago, he was throwing a tantrum around the palace, because he didn’t want to get married. Jongin’s only grown more handsome in these years, and more confident, as he’s proven himself to be a talented diplomat. 

Joonmyun’s affections can’t be bought, but love can never be purchased, only won. It might be chance, or it might be fate, but whatever brought Jongin to him is a blessing.

“Kyungsoo told me to give you this by the way,” Jongin speaks up, and he reaches into his pocket.  
He pulls out a purple envelope, crumpled at the edges. 

Joonmyun tears it open, and unfolds the letter inside.

There’s tears in his eyes before he reads more than the first word.

_I’ve been informed you’re doing well these days. I’m relieved to hear it_  
_You looked up to me so much when we were kids, and I always worried if you could make it on your own. I believed in you, though, always._  
_I know I didn’t make a mistake, and I have no regrets when I hear praise for your name in the streets. The common folk love what you’re doing for them; I always knew my baby brother would grow up to become a great king._  
_Much love, M._  
_p.s. I’m glad we all got our happy endings, love you always!_

Joonmyun doesn’t know what to do, except cry. Nine years, Minseok kept him in the dark, but of course his brother is still out there, looking out for him. He knows he’ll never see his brother again, but this, these words, are more than he ever expected.

And they’re true. He’s overcome his fear of expectations, and he’s exceeded them. He’s become a ruler that the commoners toast to in the village taverns, and who the nobles respect, even when they disagree on policies. 

He’s found the love he feared he’d never know, the person who inspires him every day, who’s pulled hin out of his shell and lead him into the sun. It’s not all easy, and Joonmyun breaks down more than he’d like to admit, but every time he has someone to help him pick up the pieces. 

“How are you feeling?” Jongin asks, when Joonmyun finally calms down.

“Grateful, and stupidly happy.”

 

Above them, in the garden, two monarch butterflies fly high, thankful for the gentle breeze as it lifts them towards the sky. They flap their royal wings, high on nectar, savouring the last of their summer days together.

**Author's Note:**

> "In biology, the imago is the last stage an insect attains during its metamorphosis, its process of growth and development; it also is called the imaginal stage, the stage in which the insect attains maturity."


End file.
